


Dance ‘Til We’re Dead!

by hollowmagic



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Dad Engineer (Team Fortress 2), Dancing, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, Inspired by Music, Rock and Roll, i wrote this with music on repeat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowmagic/pseuds/hollowmagic
Summary: After hearing Engineer say something outright illegal about the art of dancing, Scout decides to show him how it’s done. Boston style.
Relationships: Engineer & Scout (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Dance ‘Til We’re Dead!

“Whadda ya mean yah’ve neva danced before?!”

Engineer recoils, startled from the abrupt volume in Scout’s voice. The kid himself is looking at him like he’s some kind of maniac. He even accidentally sacrificed some of his _Bonk!_ to give him that wild expression. Engineer falls silent; honestly he’s not even sure what he did wrong to initiate that reaction.

“Ah’ — ah’ didn’t say ah’ never danced before, ah’ said ah’ just ain’t a stickler for dancin’...”

“Yeah, well, dat’s pretty much da same frickin’ thing, dude.”

“It ain’t,” Engineer insists. He doesn’t get why this is such a big deal. “Y’all have seen me dance before. Ah’ can do th’ _Conga_.”

Scout groans like _he’s_ the one putting up with nonsense. It has the man scouring his brain to think of a good reason why what he said was so terribly offensive. He knows he and Scout were grown from separate vines, but to make this kind of fuss in his own workshop over a little remark, hell, he’s dying to figure this out now.

Placing his _Bonk!_ on the corner of a table, Scout paces toward the helmeted merc with his palms facing each other. “Alright, hold up, lemme get dis straight real quick, um—look, I ain’t tellin’ ya how ta live ya life, man, but I mean—get real. Da frickin’ _Conga_ is all ya can do?”

_Ah’ beg yer pardon?_

“Ah’ didn’t say that, neither.” Now he’s thinking the kid may be trying to piss him off. It's working. “Ah’ sure as hell can kick, can’t ah’? _Kazotsky Kick_ , or whatever Heavy called it. An’ ah’ can _Square Dance_ , too. Remember that _Mannrobics_ session Soldier forced us through? Didn’t break nothin’.”

The face he finds staring back at him is so blank he could make a mural.

“What?”

“Mannrobics.”

“Yeah.”

“Mann-frickin’-robics.”

“... _Yeah._ ”

“Dude. My _Ma_ does dat crap. To lose _weight._ ”

_Ho-hoo, well now._

Cocking his head, Engineer rests his wrench on his shoulder with a hefty iron grip. “Are ya callin’ me old, boy?”

“I ain’t callin’ ya nothin’, bro,” Scout defends, raising his hands in mock surrender. There’s not a hint of panic in his disgruntled face. “I’m jus’ sayin’. Whatever crap we do ‘round ‘ere, it ain’t what ya call _real_ dancin’, not where I’m from.”

“Well what th’ hell do y’all consider _real_ _dancin’_ , then?”

“Not _exercise_ , dat’s fo’ sure! Oh wait, sorry—’ _Mannrobics’._ ”

Engineer has no clue how to retort to any of this, this whole argument has been a rollercoaster of dumbassery from the beginning. He just throws his arms out as Scout apparently gives up and strides back toward his drink. Dancing? Really? He’s done plenty of dancing in his time! In his younger days he had performed a little Texas Two-Step with his high school sweetheart, but that was so long ago… oh! No, there was when he and Irene practiced the Ten-Step Polka day and night for their wedding! 

—But then it rained and Irene wasn’t in the mood for dancing, then… 

Huh.

Maybe Scout _does_ have a point… 

Pointless as it may be.

“What do y’all do in th’ city?”

Engineer feels ridiculous asking the question. Across the room, the Scout is leaning against a work table, quirking a brow with his drink paused at his lips. Probably baffled at the audacity of such an inquiry. Especially after that circus of a directionless argument. Though his body language is usually a benefactor for his thoughts, right now he’s giving the older merc an ambiguous stare. Then, in the midst of silence, right as the Engineer was about to let it go with a _never mind,_ the runner downs his _Bonk!_ like a dying man, tosses the remains into an adjacent trash bin, then delivers a cheeky grin that sends an uneasy shiver down the man’s spine.

“Wanna learn?”

* * *

“This ain’t what ah’ meant.”

Getting dragged down to a medium-sized workout room—which he had no idea was down here in the first place, has this always been here?—and away from his workshop had the Engineer wishing he had dropped the topic while he could. All he could do then was fruitlessly watch Scout push the workout equipment out of the way until the room was practically empty. Once he was done, he admired his setup with a satisfactory nod and stood across the room from the mechanic.

“‘S what _I_ meant.”

He ignores the _‘what th’ hell?’_ look Engineer gives him and strides over to a boombox resting on a table. “Back where I’m from, in my neighborhood, we’d go ta dese sick nasty rippahs every otha Friday night, hundreds of folks goin’ in ta have a good time. Everybody dere would drink ‘til dey didn’t know red from blue. Pigs would usually bust us an’ bag a couple underage kids who snuck in wit’ deir own Charlestown, but man, dose were da frickin’ _shit._ Yah’d be dancin’ nonstop, all night long, not even carin’ where yah’d end up da next day.”

Engineer politely lends Scout his ear while he fumbles with the boombox. “What’s a _‘Charlestown’?”_

“Case o’ beer. One-a my brothas bought one and Ma nearly killed alla’ us when she found out.”

“Huh. Ya remember who held all them gatherins’?”

“Different people. Every time. Not one—I ain’t kiddin’—dere was neva a time where dese things happened at da same area. _Neva._ Not _one_ place hadda second keggah. Was like an assembly line goin’ through da houses, every otha week we hadda walk jus’ a little bit furtha than last time. Pigs caught on eventually, an’ dat was da end of it. One-a my brothas tried ta convince ‘em ta join us, an’ ‘e got ‘is ass handed ta ‘im, da dumbass.”

Engineer thought, halfway through the story, he could divert Scout away from this dance lesson nonsense by keeping interest in the tale, but his effort ended in vain when Scout rebounded the conversation.

“Anyway,” he says, finishing up with the boombox and sauntering to the center of the room. “Point is, I learned a whole lotta dance moves at dose things, an’ I’m bouta show ya how we do it back in Boston.”

Uh oh. He’s actually serious about this.

“Scout, look, ah’—ugh—ah’ appreciate th’ offer…”

Scout cuts him off. “Nuh-uh, ya ain’t turnin’ back on dis now, hardhat.” He’s stretching his arms and sides as if he’s preparing to beat him up.

“Ah’m really not cut out fer this…” Yet before he could pivot and run, right on cue arrives a smooth guitar riff that eats the words right out of his mouth. Drums and bass kick in along with bell-like notes of a piano that resound in his ears. A man’s voice breaks through and makes Engineer’s blood run cold.

Chuck Berry’s _Johnny B. Goode_ has him practically shaking in his boots!

He’s never danced to _this_!

He doesn’t even listen to Rock and Roll!

Meanwhile Scout’s body suddenly starts _moving_ like it's a natural human instinct, twisting left and right, swinging his arms in tandem and bopping his head to the words and it all looks so _fluid_ , so _upbeat_ , he actually looks like he’s having a _blast_. At first Engineer wonders what the hell he’s doing—what even _are_ those moves? Is the spine supposed to work like that? How’s he not falling down? Why does it look so _exhausting?_

“What in Sam Hill…”

“Take a gander, hardhat, _dis_ is how ya _really_ dance! C’mon, dance wit’ me!” Scout encourages with a jolly grin, performing a move nigh impossible for the older merc.

And Engineer has _no_ idea what to do, Scout may as well speak Martian and it would still make the same amount of sense! He feels like a deer in headlights!

“Ah’ don’t even know what yer doin’, ah’ don’t know th’ words tuh this song!”

“We ain’t _singin’_ it, ya dope! We’re _bustin’ moves_!”

Now that he’s said that, Engineer ponders whether he looks the most ridiculous out of the two, standing there statue-stiff with zero moves to bust.

“Oh c’mon,” now Scout is doing something absurd with his hips, “ya don’t need ta know da words! Jus’ move! Follow my lead!”

That sounds like a great idea, the problem is, the mechanic’s legs refuse to do so. In fact his back might snap in half if he tries to do anything now. The Texas Two-Step is _nothing_ like this surreal nightmare of tendon-shredding hip-hop.

Scout must have finally noticed the man’s timid behavior, because he cuts down the intensity of his moves to a simple side-to-side swing. “Like dis. Do what I’m doin’! Jus’ feel it!”

“Now what th’ hell does that mean, _‘just feel it’_?”

“Don’t even think about it! Get outta yah comfort zone!”

This is _way_ out of his comfort zone. This is in another territory! 

None of this is what he wanted. Every part of him is telling him to walk away, return to his workshop and finish up what he started. Forget their argument and forget this Rock and Roll junk. He doesn’t even like Rock and Roll — Country is more up his alley.

...

…Although, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, that guitar sure is _catchy_ …

And, despite the genre, the song itself isn’t… horrid… 

And… and the way Scout is moving, it looks… looks… _fun._

The Texan takes a glimpse at the floor. When did his foot start tapping?

_♫“Go, Johnny, go, go!”♪_

… 

It's the guitar’s fault for what happens next.

Engineer succumbs to the guitar and gradually allows his body to sway to the tune. It's awkward at first, getting acclimated to the movement, but once the second verse gets him rolling, he works himself up to imitating Scout’s moves in near perfect sync. The kid is smiling wider and wider.

“Dere ya go! Yeah, like dat!”

The Texan still has no idea what he’s doing, even with the runner’s pep, but he will admit, he hasn’t felt this sort of thrill in a _very_ long time. Each beat and verse is a kick of elation straight to the heart. A smile tugs the corners of Engineer’s mouth, watching Scout and feeling the tension gradually slip off his shoulders. He focuses on his feet—What is even happening? Was dancing supposed to be this, this — this _invigorating?_ Is this what those _rippahs_ down in Boston were always like?

Millions of thoughts crowd his head all at once, yet none of them are answered when Scout’s voice breaches through:

“Get into it, hardhat!”

Engineer looks up, and—

“Show me everythin’ ya got!”

—Says Scout, alternating his feet between steps, creating a strange yet funky new move Engineer has never laid eyes on before. Its got that air to it—that air that makes him never want the music to end, to keep that sweet, sweet guitar rolling and feeding his ears like candy, that air that’s making his heart pound with pure, unparalleled glee.

He gets it now!

Engineer gets what Scout meant!

_“Jus’ feel it!”_

He can feel the music—he can feel it in every nerve and bone!

He’s never felt so — _alive!_

“Boy, ah’ll show ya what this old man can do!”

An instinctive _yeehaw!_ erupts from his voice and a hearty guffaw from the Scout follows, the two mercs who not even ten minutes ago were arguing over real dancing and are now twisting and grooving, smiling and clapping to the beat like it was the last day of their lives. It's only them in this room, only them and this song, everyone and everything doesn’t matter to them now—time means nothing as their dance moves soar them through these moments!

 _♫“Go, go, go, Johnny go!”_ _♪_

How this all began felt mere seconds ago, and yet the end was approaching.

Scout knows this — so for his grand finale, he gives it everything he has left in him. The fuel he received from his _Bonk!_ powers him through a variety of swing dances, ones that even required a bit of a tango with Engineer, grabbing each other’s hand and exchanging places. The man is left in utter awe at Scout’s ability to keep his stamina going like that. 

He knew Scout was more rounded in certain aspects other than running and baseball, but to see one of the kid’s physical talents with his own two eyes, it's stunning enough to make him feel young again.

Frankly, this song by itself makes him feel young again! Neither the Texas Two-Step nor _Mannrobics_ begin to compare to this!

The high the both of them are experiencing is floating them back down to reality as the song nears its final lyric. Scout and Engineer give each other knowing glances, the telepathic message typing itself out for each other.

♫“Johnny B. Goode!”♪

All three voices ended the ditty with an explosive, heartfelt bang.

At first, the two mercs stood stock still, holding a finishing pose to end on. They huffed for air as they descended their high like astronauts returning to Earth. Their hearts threatened to pound right out of their chests, but not one of them dared to let their smile fall.

It was when they finally couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out laughing, toppling to the floor like children.

Scout laughs with more joy coursing his veins. “Oh, man! Oh, _man!_ Dude, dat was frickin’ _sick!_ Holy crap!”

“Ah’ should be sayin’ that,” Engineer huffs right back. “Ah’ never felt so ebullient.”

“Haha, hah, uh, _‘ebullient’?”_

“Energetic, ah’ve never felt so energized before.”

“Oh, oh yeah. Heh! Told ya so! _Dat_ is how ya _really_ dance, my friend!”

Engineer keeps his grin—he doesn’t have a rebuttal to that anymore. “Ya sure showed me, didn’t ya? Didja really learn all’o that at them jamborees?”

“Blame my brothas,” Scout confesses. “Dey taught _everybody_ dem moves.”

“Carryin’ on th’ legacy, are ya?”

The out-of-breath runner chuckles at that.

For a while the two of them lie there in silence, basking in the afterglow. They even breathe out and let their hearts tranquilize.

After a minute or two, Scout proposes, “Wanna do dis again? Like, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

So soon!

…But, damn, if this is what it took to put him in this kind of mood, he’d be happy to repeat this in the next hour.

“Yeah, tomorrow, like, y’know, after work?”

“Ah’ don’t see why not.”

“Hell yeah! Dat was only da beginnin’ of what I gotta teach ya!”

“Heheh,” the man turns to look at Scout, “ya sure do know yer stuff, boy. Think ah’ got a lil’ more respect for ya.”

Scout snaps his head to face his teammate. His eyes are wide as plates. “Wha — really?”

“Yeah. Ya got a lotta talent in ya. Teach me what ya know.”

Seeing Scout’s face explode into joy makes Engineer chuckle. “Oh—oh, yah ain’t even _ready_ to learn what else I know! But, uh—y’know, yah ain’t half bad yahself… like, dancin’, an’ whateva…”

Engineer, now having thought about it, finds he doesn’t mind getting a genuine compliment from the likes of Scout. 

“Heh. Thanks. Tomorrow ah’ want ya tuh teach me how ya do that thing with yer leg next time.”

“Ya got it, bro. We’re gonna dance ‘til we’re dead.”

“Ya got that right, heh.”

“Haha!”

And then, with their jubilant hearts in a haze, the two mercs lay there until they fell into deep, dream-filled slumbers, not even caring where they would end up the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> i like to think spy poked his head in to see what the fuss was about and caught them both red handed :D


End file.
